Batman: Viewpoints
by TheSharing
Summary: Batman's origins, villains, and allies. All re-envisioned in a layered, complex story told from many points of view. Rated T for some language, mild adult themes, and violence. Please R&R!
1. Lesson 1

**Lesson Number One:**

**Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer**

_**Viewpoint: Barry Harmon**_

"You son of a bitch!"

Again, his fist met my face. Again, and again, and again…

At first, I was trying to resist. I really was. Part of me even thought I could manage to push him off. And then maybe I could bolt for the door.

Yeah right…

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me!" he yelled.

His voice… It sounded… different. I mean, I had heard Bruce when he was angry. He was angry a lot. And I mean _a lot_. More than any normal person ever should be. But like I said, this was different. Scary different.

He sounded like… a demon.

"I'm sorry!" I sputtered. I felt something small and wet trickle off my lip.

A tooth.

"I'm sorry!"

Another blow to the face.

_Does this guy ever let up?_

"You are sorry!" Bruce sighed, finally picking himself up. He stared down at me. His eyes looked as cold as ice… "You're a sorry excuse for a man. And that's all you'll ever be."

He turned and ripped his towel from the floor, used it to wipe his brow. I didn't dare move from my spot on the floor, right beside the punching bag.

Ironic, isn't it? He came there to punch a bag. And he ended up punching his best friend.

Over and over again.

In the _face_.

I guess I had it coming.

All I wanted was for Bruce to have some fun.

But Bruce _never_ has fun.

Take the Christmas before this night. Perfect example.

There was a party at one of the sorority houses. Alpha Phi something or other.

And when I say party, I mean a _party_. Girls, booze, the works.

And did Bruce partake in any of the holiday cheer?

Of course not! He stood outside, brooding like the brooder he is.

I tried to lighten his spirits… But I think you know where _that _gets me.

Punched over and over again.

In the _face_.

… Okay, like I was saying, maybe I deserved it.

Maybe I got frustrated with him. More so than usual.

And maybe I said something I shouldn't have.

_**Viewpoint: Bruce Wayne**_

I don't know why I've been thinking back to that night…

What am I saying? Of course I know why.

Because I feel guilty.

I've depended on Barry a lot lately. Without him, I don't know if The Batman would still exist.

He'd be just another urban legend, left dead in some alleyway dumpster.

Lunch for the rats.

It's strange to remember my life before all… before all of this.

Of all the people I could have chosen to help me on this… crusade of mine, I chose the one guy who gave me the most hell.

As if my life weren't Hell enough.

I remember it clearly. It was my senior year at the university. I was in the gym. I was alone. With the punching bag.

With "Joe Chill."

Joe Chill. Such a simple name. A simple name for a simple man who committed one simple act.

If only my life were simple… I hardly know the meaning of simplicity. And I refuse to see it.

To me, there is no black or white. There are only shades of gray.

I resolve to be the lesser of two evils.

Nothing sounded better than my fists colliding with that bag. Again and again.

Like music to my ears.

Each time, it felt like I was making myself… _better_.

I was a machine. Rage was my fuel.

And that was just the way I liked it.

"Bruuuuuce?" a voice called from behind.

To be honest, it startled me. And I don't startle easy. I was usually alone in the gym. Especially on Saturday nights.

Between breaths, I answered him. I wasn't about to stop my work-out.

"What do you want, Barry?"

I could feel his sigh.

"Bruce. You've changed, man. You used to have a _little_ fun. Not much. But some. And before, I didn't really mind."

Barry stepped around to face me. I didn't look at him. I just kept punching the bag. Living life on auto-pilot becomes a habit when you…

…When you don't have many friends.

"I didn't mind before, really," he continued. "But now, this is getting ridiculous. One man can't handle the party alone. I mean, a few chicks, sure… But the whole freshman class…?"

He smiled that strange grin of his.

"Come on, Bruce. You know you could use a break from exercise. Or at least substitute for a different _kind_ of exercise."

I still remember… I couldn't help but smile. Barry was annoying sometimes, sure. But to be honest, he was the closest to a friend I ever had. Still is. And he still knows how to get to me.

"Aha! There we go!" he cheered. "The invincible Bruce Wayne is smiling. Mission accomplished."

I stopped, caught the bag. Grabbed my water bottle from the floor and took a drink.

"Barry… I know how hard it is for you to pick up girls without me there. But I'm not finished here yet."

"Not finished?" he yelped in disbelief. "Man, you talk about this stuff like it's homework. I'd hate to see your to-do list. One o'clock: brood. Three o'clock: brood some more. Five o'clock until one in the morning: beat the living daylights out of a bag. Or an old lady. Or whatever I can get my hands on."

Again, I chuckled. "Barry… This is just… who I am. I _have _to do this."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said. "You're gonna be a big, bad FBI agent some day. And they only accept guys in top physical condition. Yadda, yadda, yadda. But you know what I say, Bruce? I say there's no point in having a body like that if you're not gonna use it to take advantage of the endless supply of pu.."

I cut him off.

"Barry. Tell everyone I said hi."

Again, I buried a fist into the bag.

He began to walk away.

We both wish he hadn't stopped…

"You know, Bruce," he said. "Just because your parents are dead, that doesn't mean _you _have to be."

Again, I caught the bag.

I turned to face him.

And for the first time, my rage truly got the best of me.

I was on him, beating his face in before I knew what had happened.

"You son of a bitch!" I yelled.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

That's all he could say for himself.

But that doesn't really matter…

What matters is, what can I say for _myself?_

Years and years have passed since that night.

At that time, my training had only just begun.

Now, I am infinitely more disciplined, more capable…

But nothing can prepare me for what I'm about to do.

This may be the hardest challenge The Batman has yet to face.

I'm sitting at the computer. The cave is cold, especially at this hour.

I don't mind.

"God… You're a billionaire and you still can't pay for a decent heating system in this dump?"

I stand and turn, removing my cowl. Barry stops in his tracks, looks me and up down.

I don't get it. He's seen me like this hundreds of times. But he never loses that look, that face that says, "Wow… I can't believe it."

"I can't believe it," he says. "You wear that thing all the time. Like it's your friggin' pajamas."

I smirk. "Barry. Shut up. I want to tell you something."

"What is it, Bruce? Need me to dry-clean your tights again?"

I want to tell him I'm sorry. I really do.

"I… I think there's a problem with the computer again."

He sighs. "Again? Bruce, it's settled. The only reason you ever befriended me was because you _knew _you'd need a nerd. Am I right? Someone to fiddle with your gizmos and gadgets while you pound the bad guys. Hmmm?"

"Yeah, Barry," I say, stepping towards the car.

"Something like that."


	2. Lesson 2

**Lesson Number Two:**

**Children Should Be Seen, Not Heard**

_**Viewpoint: Bruce Wayne**_

Gotham City.

I hate this town.

Filth everywhere, from the streets to the skies.

Patrolling is difficult. It's hard to look at what my home has become. But it keeps me in check. It reminds me of why I do this. Why, every night, I take this mantle.

The mantle of the bat.

"Computer's fine, Bruce," says a voice in my cowl's com-link. "How's the Batmobile?"

Barry can be a real asshole sometimes.

"I _hate _it when you call it that."

"Come on, man," he chuckles. "I built the damn thing. That's what it's called. And you _know _it's a cool name. Don't deny it."

I pull into an alleyway. Safe enough. There shouldn't be anyone in this area, save for a few derelicts. And by now, they know what happens if they mess with the car.

No one likes the smell of charred flesh.

From atop the old Winston building, I wait.

I watch.

Something is bound to go down tonight. Something always does.

There's a reason it's called Crime Alley, after all.

But time passes.

An hour goes by.

And, for once, there are no signs of trouble.

The streets remain relatively empty, as does the sky. Gordon's signal is yet to make an appearance.

_I don't know how to feel about this…_

I decide it's time to relocate. I stand and peer down at the alleyway below, preparing to make my descent.

But before I do, I notice something.

The manhole. Its lid has been removed.

And it wasn't like that before…

Suddenly, a hand rises from the city's bowels and grabs the cold asphalt.

I withdraw a shuriken, just to be safe.

My eyes narrow, preparing to face the worst…

A figure crawls from the sewer, carefully setting the manhole cover in place.

A short, lean figure. Wearing a hood.

Part of me wants to confront this stranger, to find out exactly _what _is going on. But my instincts tell me to stay, to watch, to let the pieces fall into place…

As the figure creeps from the alleyway, a face is revealed beneath the tattered, green cloak.

A _girl's _face.

A young, innocent-looking girl. Maybe thirteen or fourteen.

What is this town coming to?

Suddenly, she darts down the sidewalk, staying close to the storefronts. She's careful to stray from the light. There's definitely something wrong about this…

I follow her trail, pursue her from the rooftops. But even with my training, it's a difficult chase. This mystery girl is a fast one.

She makes a turn. And another. And another.

Endlessly, I follow. I begin to wonder if she even has a destination. It almost seems as though she's running aimlessly, without purpose…

But soon enough, it becomes clear that this is no midnight jog.

Together, we come upon a young man, standing at a bus stop. He's wearing a suit. Nice. Expensive. He's a business type, judging from the briefcase.

"What is she doing?" I whisper to myself.

The girl stands in the shadows for awhile, watching the man intently.

Again, I wonder if I should reveal myself, prevent things from getting ugly…

But this is an ugly town.

And I want to find out just _what_ her deal is.

In the blink of an eye, she's off. The man doesn't have a clue what's about to hit him…

With the agility of a cat, Hood leaps from the sidewalk, extends a leg, and collides with Pretty Boy's face. He's down and out, leaving her to snatch his wallet, his briefcase, and retreat to her precious shadows.

Again, the chase is on.

From rooftop to rooftop, I follow Hood's every move. Eventually, we return to the Winston building.

I know there's no time to lose.

Quickly, I spread my cape and descend upon the alleyway. But before I can confront the thief, she has returned to the sewers and replaced the manhole cover.

Like I said, she's a fast one.

With a grunt, I grab hold of the lid and toss it aside, descending into…

Darkness. Utter darkness.

I reach behind and grab a small flashlight from my utility belt.

It flickers on.

I'm inside the Gotham sewers.

And, sadly, they don't look much worse than the surface.

There's no sign of the girl.

Carefully, I walk beside a trail of murky, fetid waters.

I come to a tunnel, long ago boarded up. Except for a few missing planks. Not enough room for a man to enter.

But just enough for a child.

My fist shatters the decaying boards with ease.

The tunnel weaves and winds, taking me further into the depths of Gotham.

Further into Hell.

Finally, a dead end. Save for a ladder that leads down to…

Down to what? My flashlight faintly reveals a stone floor. Another level? How far do these sewers run?

I don't bother with the ladder. I can make the jump.

Cape unfurled, I gracefully fall into the unknown. A storm of gasps fills the room.

"Who's there?" I demand, again revealing the flashlight.

I wish I hadn't asked.

Children. Lots of children. At least fifty jammed into this tight chamber. Like sardines in a can.

Their faces… I don't think I'll ever be able to forget them. Sunken, hungry faces with dirty cheeks and fearful eyes.

But fearful of what?

For once, I don't think it's me…

"What are you doing down here?"

No answer. The children simply stare at me. Again, their eyes… So hollow…

I realize they're all wearing the same strange cloak. Same as the one worn by my mystery girl… the thief.

What the hell is this?

"Is someone keeping you here?"

Slowly, a small boy approaches. He looks even younger than Hood, maybe ten or eleven. His brown eyes shine like glass in my flashlight.

Reluctantly, he nods.

I kneel, placing my hand on his shoulder.

"Who? Who has done this?"

He looks to the dank ground beneath his bare feet, scared to say a word. They all are. I've found myself in the middle of a strange colony… A colony of mute, desperate children…

Finally, the boy's gaze meets mine. After that, he doesn't move his eyes. Only his hand. He points to the wall beside us. A warning is written there in something… something like _blood._

"Beware," it reads. "Beware the Sewer King."


End file.
